


My big fat fake gay wedding

by Minim Calibre (minim_calibre)



Category: Don't Trust the B---- in Apartment 23
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-20
Updated: 2012-12-20
Packaged: 2017-11-21 19:43:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/601395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minim_calibre/pseuds/Minim%20Calibre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wherein life happens</p>
            </blockquote>





	My big fat fake gay wedding

**Author's Note:**

  * For [onpeakhill](https://archiveofourown.org/users/onpeakhill/gifts).



When I moved to Manhattan from Indiana, I had a great job, a fabulous apartment, a fiance, and a life plan.

One week later, and I didn't have any of that. Instead, I was working in a coffee shop, living with a probable psychopath I'd found on Craigslist, my engagement was toast, and my life plan was on life support. Then, with a little help from my roommate, I signed my life plan's DNR and pulled the plug.

You might think that once I got my job at Harkin Financial, I'd be all gung-ho to resurrect that life plan of mine. After all, what could be better than having the job of my dreams, finding the man of my dreams, and planning the christenings for the 2.5 kids of my dreams?

Maybe I was, but it turns out that the saying really is true: life is what happens to you while you're making other plans. Even ones of the life variety. Sometimes, it just takes a robbery, a crazy con artist roommate, and a TV star's self-funded indie film project to show you your true path.

 

_Two months earlier..._

Nothing quite says life in the big city like waking up, unlocking your bedroom door (which has three chains and a deadbolt, all because your roommate may be your BFF now, but she's also the last of the true party girls, and after the third time you've had the party interrupt your beauty sleep, you start to take precautions), and finding a blank expanse of floor where your furniture should be. Or, in the case of the coffee maker, a blank expanse of counter. And, of course, in the place of the sofa...

"CHLOE!"

"Do have any idea how loud you sound right now? Because, I've got to tell you, you sound really loud, and I don't think that's the hangover talking, it's just you yelling."

"Chloe, did you lock the door when you went out last night?"

"Whatever. Locking things is your job."

"It is when I go with you. Which I didn't do last night, because we're nearing the end of the quarter at work, which means we're totally slammed, and as I haven't slept more than five hours in the last two weeks, I went to bed before midnight like a normal person, and someone forgot to lock the door."

"So?"

"So all our stuff is missing. Wait, how did you not notice that all our stuff is missing? You're sleeping on the floor where the couch is supposed to be."

"Martini goggles make all flat surfaces look and feel just like the mattress in a honeymoon suite." Chloe stumbled to her feet and made her way over to the cocktail shaker, which, unlike the coffee maker, was just where it's supposed to be, and poured the contents straight into her mouth as soon as she noticed her usual martini glass was missing. "God, this explains why my back feels like a trucker in stripper heels walked on it."

Why did I suspect she was speaking from experience? "I'm ignoring that mental image, and focusing on what's important here: we've been robbed, and neither of us have renter's insurance. I'd meant to sign up for it after my first paycheck, but I was way too busy, and how are we going to afford to replace the furniture? And the coffee maker! And my cookie cutter collection! And..."

I got interrupted by an eyeroll and an impatient hand wave. "Hard way, or easy way?"

"Sorry?"

Another eyeroll, this one hand wave free. "To replace our stuff. Hard way or easy way? Which do you want?"

"I am not doing anything immoral, illegal, or that will otherwise stain my immortal soul. I've already done enough of that for you this month." And the month before that, and the month before that... basically, ever since I'd moved in.

"Fair enough. Easy way it is. Too bad, though. The hard way would have been loads of fun."

"How is the easy way not immoral, illegal, and soul-destroying? And what is the easy way, anyway?"

"The easy way is easy: we get gay marriage registered."

"Did you just say we should get gay marriage registered?"

"Totally. Does Indiana have a Macy's? We should probably register at one, just so the little people have somewhere to go to get us the cheap stuff. For everything else, there's Barneys."

"Chloe, we're not gay."

"So?"

"And we're not getting married."

"So?"

"So if we're not gay, and we're not getting married, we don't get to have a gay marriage registry."

"Why not? We could have a big party that Scott and Karen would have to pay for, people would give us stuff. Besides, guys are totally into that whole girl-on-girl thing. It's a win-win situation. I should wear these shoes to our wedding." Speaking of stripper heels... "And you should wear flats or go barefoot, 'cause right now, your mouth is at nip level."  She leaned forward with a leer and started cackling. "Kidding! You should totally see your face."

"So the easy way isn't a gay marriage registry? And why are we calling it a gay marriage registry, anyway? Isn't that a little insensitive? Shouldn't we just be calling it a marriage registry?"

"No, the easy way's still through the registry. Who says we have to get married, silly? How do you think I got a Tiffany & Co. cocktail shaker in the first place?"

"Gay marriage registry?"

"Close enough. I claimed James and I had eloped and charged it to his account while he was on location shooting some PSA about homeless orphans or something. That's why it's engraved JvdB5ever on the bottom."

"You know that usually, you don't get the gifts till after the wedding, right?"

"So we get married for realsies. After a month or two, we just file for divorce and I'll claim I was going through a phase."

Actually, compared to my first proposal, it was kind of sweet. I mean, unlike Steven, at least Chloe was being honest with me, in her own weird way. And I was tired, freaking out, and hadn't had any coffee, which is why I answered the way I did.

"Sure. What the hell, why not?"

"Great. I'll call Scott and make sure he sends me Grandma's ring. The thing's massive. Gotta be at least five carats. Oh, and we'll have to get you one, too, I guess."

 

_Later that day..._

"Oh! Hey, James."

"June! Chloe tells me you two are getting married. What's she got up her sleeve this time?"

"Wedding registry. We need to replace all our things."

"Classic. Did she ever tell you how she got the cocktail shaker?"

"Yep."

"That's our Chloe. Hey, look, can I perform the ceremony? I'm legally a minister in the state of New York. Totally legit. Have you seriously looked into the tax advantages of forming your own church? Incredible! My accountant is a genius."

And that's how I got James van der Beek as the officiant for my big fake gay wedding. After all, it's not like I was going to ask Pastor Jin to do it.

 

_One month later..._

"Do you, June Colburn, solemnly swear to love, honor, and rescue Chloe from her bar lies, for as long as you both shall live?"

Yeah, we wrote our own vows. We also threw the wedding and reception in our apartment. It was cozy. Just a few dozen of the closest people I'd never seen before and would never see again.

"I, June Colburn, do solemnly swear to love, honor, and rescue Chloe from her bar lies, for as long as we both shall live."

"By the power vested in me by the great state of New York and the Church of the Eternal Creek, I do pronounce you whore and wife." That part was Chloe's idea. "You may kiss the bride."

"Make it good for the photogs," Chloe hissed. Then she proceeded to shove her tongue down my throat. Looking back, that was the moment that changed everything.

"Luther," cried James, clearly unaware that my entire world had just shifted around my tonsils, "Champagne!"

I grabbed my glass and drained it, ignoring the toast he was making. Chloe refilled it with a smug grin on her face. "June kissed a girl, and she liked it!"

"Shut up, Chloe... just... shut up!"

"Look, just because you're my wife now, doesn't mean you can order me around. Did the vows say anything about obey? Thought not! Drink up, bitch! We've got a reception to throw, and a marriage to consummate!"

"I'm sorry, did you say consummate?"

"Hell yeah. It's the full meal deal tonight. Fish tacos all around!"

"Chloe, how much have you had to drink?"

"I dunno, but did you know there are two of you? KIDDING! Drink up, you old ball and chain. We've got a long night ahead of us, and I don't know about you, but I seriously need to get laid. I've been saving myself for the wedding night. It's been days. Are you a squirter? I bet you're squirter."

"OK, what's a squirter?"

"Oh, June, still so naive. We'll have to change that now that we're married."

"We're getting a divorce, remember? You're going through a phase."

"Not until you get that pretty little cornfed ass into my bed, I'm not. C'mon, let's go spelunking in the lady caves!"

"You don't have a bed, remember? It was stolen, along with the rest of our stuff."

"Whatever. Your bed, then. Hurry up and carry me across your threshold: the cave adventurer awaits! James, don't wait up! June and I are off to consummate this bitch!"

I got two thumbs up from Dawson. How could I say no to that?

 

_Five minutes later..._

"Ah! AH! CHLOE!" She did something with her tongue that I didn't think was humanly possible. Or maybe it's just that the less than a handful of people I'd been with didn't know what they were doing. All I knew was that I had a brief out of body experience and something that felt like a flash flood between my legs.

A Cheshire Cat grin has no right to feel that good in a flood zone. "Squirter! Totally called it! Pull your dress back down so we can get back to the reception before Luther eats all our cake."

"Wait, what about you?"

"After we've opened our prezzies. James got me everything I registered for at Babeland, so you can strap one on and take me like a lady man."

"OK, great. Anything else I should know?"

"Fifty Shades of Grey totally ruined ben-wa balls for the rest of us, but just so you know, in case of a zombie outbreak, my vag can double as a BB gun."

"Wouldn't we need a shotgun?"

"That too."

"Did we register for one?"

"Maybe. If we didn't, can I eat your brains?"

"I think you already did."

"I know, am I great or what? Let's get back to the reception. I need more champagne to wash down your lady cherry."

I scrambled into my robe as she headed back out. "Aren't you going to put on clothes or something?"

"Why? I'd just have to take them off again. Hey, James, guess what? June's a squirter."

"Seriously?"

"Totally."

"Rockefeller Center or Yellowstone?"

"Oh my God, Yellowstone. Well, with me, anyway. Probably Rockefeller Center with anyone else. I should ask Scott."

"You guys, I am standing right here, you know! And Chloe, no! You are not asking your Dad about... that. I'm going back to bed. Chloe, you're welcome to join me."

Chloe shrugged and grabbed two bottles of champagne from their ice buckets. "See ya, James. Time for me to take another tongue bath in Old Faithful.”

 

_The morning after..._

Nothing quite says "I live with a crazy person" like stumbling out of your bed the morning after your wedding, unlocking your bedroom door, and finding all your stolen furniture neatly in place, except for the coffee maker, which appears to have been replaced with a shiny new Rancilio Silva with a hot pink bow on top.

"CHLOE!"

"Oh, good. James must be done filming that stupid indie he wrote after his Dancing With the Stars flame out. God, what a relief. I thought he'd never give us our stuff back."

"James. Had. Our. Stuff?"

"Yeah, I told him he could borrow it to keep the budget down if he threw the wrap party at our place and paid for everything."

"Chloe, if James had our stuff, and we weren't robbed, why did we get fake married?"

"Technically, we got real married. Anyhow, you would have just insisted you weren't gay, and blah blah blah, and it was easier to let you think it was a scheme."

"Sorry?"

"You said at least a dozen times last night that you loved me. And I wasn't even going down on you for half of them."

"That was the champagne talking!"

"No it wasn't."

It's a lot easier to sink down in stunned disbelief when you've got a couch to meet you halfway. "You're right. Oh my god. I love you. Oh god. What are we even doing?"

"You're having a crisis of sexuality. I'm planning on what we should take on our honeymoon to Tahiti. Don't worry--James is paying for that, too. And don't take too long. Our flight's in an hour and a half."

"We're married. We're really, really married. Does this mean you're not planning on divorcing me?"

"Would I have bothered to measure you for a custom two-strap dildo harness if I was going to divorce you? Please. You're the best thing that ever happened to me, and yeah, I guess I love you, too. Now enough of this sappy crap: get packing."

 

_Now_

When I was growing up in Indiana, I thought I wanted the American Dream: picket fence, husband, kids, apple pie and everything. I had my whole life plan ahead of me. Of course, I also thought I was straight.

Instead, I have Manhattan, martinis, and a wife who's completely unsuited for parenting or monogamy. I'm Harkin Financial's new poster girl for diversity -- literally. My face is on the wall in the HR office, next to Mark's (I owed him a favor, and we had an opening).

It's not the life I planned.

And that's the best thing that ever happened to me.


End file.
